Page 6 of The Blind Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“I suppose we shouldn’t delay bearding the lioness in her den, hmm?”

From beside him, the viscount chuckled. “I hope luck is with you.”

“As do I.”

While they approached the gentlemen’s door on the left side of the edifice, Ashbury sucked in a breath.

“Dear God, the bouncer is the size of a mountain.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we will find trouble.”

“Hopefully.” Ashbury guided Allan’s arm. “We’re here,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

Allan nodded. “I wish for an interview with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

The man guarding the door huffed out his displeasure. “You need to make prior arrangements.” From the deep rumble of his voice, it was clear he wasn’t to be trifled with. “Besides, the gaming hell ain’t open yet. Come back at nine o’clock tonight to hit the tables.”

“Oh, I don’t wish to gamble.” Much, seeing as how he had already done so.

“But I do need to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” Rarely did he enjoy pulling rank on anyone, and he certainly didn’t make it a habit to prove difficult, but today was an exception.

His future depended upon it. “I am the Duke of Masterson, and I’m not best pleased with having to come all the way out here to begin with.

I will see the owner of this establishment this afternoon, or there will be hell to pay.

” He narrowed his eyes behind his tinted lenses and hoped it made an impression on the bouncer.

“Don’t assume because I am blind that I won’t know if you are trying to cheat me. ”

“Well done, Masterson,” Ashbury said in a whisper at his side. “What’s the good of being a duke if one can’t bully one’s way into places?”

A half grin tugged at the corner of Allan’s mouth. “Indeed.”

Apparently, that was either enough to convince the guard or he didn’t care either way, but fabric rustled. “Follow me. I will find out if Mrs. Dove-Lyon wishes to receive guests at this time.”

Again, Ashbury took Allan’s arm. He led him into the familiar space, but instead of continuing along the corridor as they would if going to any of the lounges or the gaming floor itself, the viscount guided him to the right.

“There are stairs. Mind your step,” he murmured as he guided Allan to the first one.

“Thank you.” London and its buildings were certainly not made for the visually impaired, but he was thankful he had close friends to help him navigate the mazes of corridors and stairs. Otherwise, he truly would be housebound and an even bigger object of pity than he already was.

“Slight turn to your left,” Ashbury said, again guiding him to where he needed to go.

A few steps along what Allan assumed was a corridor, slight pressure on his arm from the viscount indicated they needed to go through into a room.

“This looks to be a drawing room,” Ashbury whispered to him.

“No doubt where the witch herself holds court.”

“Ah.” Allan strolled beside his friend as a slight buzz of excitement made itself known at the base of his spine.

The bouncer cleared his throat. “Remain here.” The sound of his footsteps faded, indicating that he’d left the room.

“As if we have a choice,” Allan said in a low voice.

He drifted from the viscount’s side, drawn toward a bit of warmth.

Upon exploring, he discovered a fireplace, and the illumination of flames inside caused shadows to dance before his eyes.

Stretching out his gloved hands, he reveled in the heat, for spring rain in London had a tendency to sink into one’s bones.

Even still, a window nearby was open, for the sound of the gentle rain falling on a tree outside met his ears; such a lovely contrast to the snap and pop from the fire.

The difference in temperatures was rather enjoyable as well.

It wasn’t long before the faint scent of a familiar floral perfume drifted to his nose, indicating the presence of another person. He knew who it was before she’d even spoken; he remembered that honeysuckle scent from her standing close to him the night before.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I presume?” he asked, turning away from the fireplace.

“It is. And I would have given you an audience, Your Grace. You did not need to bully my bouncer.” It was difficult to discern the emotion in her voice: annoyance, perhaps, or possibly amusement.

With her, it could be either. “I see you’ve brought one of my least favorite members of the beau monde with you.

” Fabric rustled. Had she moved to greet the viscount?

“Good afternoon, Ashbury. I’ll wager you’re faring well after your time here?

I don’t believe you’ve graced the gaming hell with your presence since then. ”

“Always a delight, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Ashbury said. The sound of footsteps indicated he’d gone to greet her. “And no, I have no need to come here for myself; I am quite content with my life.”

“Because of me, but then, it didn’t occur to you to thank me.” She tsked her tongue. “You rogues that I see here are wildly ungrateful, at least on the surface, but I think deep down, you know that every one of you owes me a debt of gratitude.”

The viscount chuckled. “Perhaps you would receive more accolades if you didn’t trick us into paying through the nose for your so-called services, which most of us don’t come here for to begin with.” There was no animosity in his tone, only mild annoyance. “However, for what it’s worth, thank you.”

She huffed. “Why don’t you both come sit down? You are disturbing my private time.”

“Come,” Ashbury whispered to him as he took Allan’s arm. “The witch has decided to honor us with a few moments of her time.” The words weren’t whispered, so obviously the viscount wished for her to hear.

Allan chuckled. “You have what you’ve always wanted. No need to get her dander up.” Once his friend guided him to a leather chair, he sat. Ashbury took the one beside him.

“Out of all the men I’ve seen recently, you might be the most polite of the lot, Masterson,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. The rustle of fabric told him she’d settled not far away.

“I do what I can. There is no use being angry. I have learned that long ago.”

Did she wear a veil, as his friends had told him she’d done during their interactions with her?

Did she sit in the shadow? And if he had come by himself, would she still feel the need to commence with the theatrics?

Those questions sat on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t here to discuss pedestrian things such as those.

“Perhaps you should tell me what it is you want from me, Your Grace?”

“Very well.” He nodded and tightened his hand on the rounded head of his cane.

“I am not happy with the choices of brides you presented me with last night.” There was not reason to prolong the visit with niceties or small talk.

“While I am well aware that being blind is a hindrance to enticing a wife, and that having someone match me—sight unseen, no pun intended—takes away the guess work as well as the anxiety in needing to court a woman, the two options you have provided simply will not work for me or my title.”

To say nothing of his lifestyle. He would require a certain level of assistance from whomever he married, and those two women didn’t sound like the sorts that would have the patience required.

For long moments, silence reigned in the room, broken only by the fire’s snap and the sound of the gentle but steady rain outside.

Finally, Mrs. Dove-Lyon softly cleared her throat. “I see. So let me understand. You wish to switch out a bride?”

“I do.” In the event she required visual confirmation, Allan nodded. “I should think that is possible. A woman of your means and connections should know of many other eligible women beyond the two poor choices I was given last night.”

“So picky, Your Grace.” Amusement threaded through her tones. “But yes, I do know of other candidates, though it is anyone’s guess whether they will prove better or worse than what you were already given.”

He nodded. “It is worth it to me to try.”

“Very well.” Fabric rustled.

Ashbury leaned close. “She is taking a deck of cards out of a draw in the table.”

“Check them.”

The viscount uttered a snort of laughter. “Do you think this is my first turn ’round with her?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon huffed with exasperation. “You two know I can hear you, correct?”

Both men chuckled, but said nothing.

“This is an ordinary deck of cards,” she told him, “And yes, Lord Ashbury looked them over and confirms this.”

Ashbury touched his arm. “It’s true.”

“What do I need to do in order to change potential brides?”

“I will lay three cards face down on the table. You will have one chance to draw a card, for each one represents an eligible woman. That chance will cost you fifty thousand pounds.”

Damn.

“Of course it will.” That was a huge chunk out of his coffers, but since his father had made sound investments, as he had since he’d taken the title, he could afford it.

From his side, Ashbury gasped. “That is a steep price merely to pick a different woman, who could be less than the ones you already have to choose from.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “Everything in life is a risk, Ashbury. You know this.”

For the space of a few heartbeats, Allan considered the good and the bad. Finally, he nodded. “I’m in.”

“Lovely.” She snapped her fingers. The sound of footsteps immediately echoed in the room. “This is Mr. Able. He was with us last night.” When Allan nodded, she continued. “He has the document here for you to sign, giving consent for the transfer of coin.”

“Please let Ashbury look it over before I put my signature on it.” He gestured with his free hand. “I refuse to sign anything without a second opinion.” And that would never change.

Fabric rustled, and a current of disturbed air brushed his cheek as Mr. Able moved to the viscount’s side. The crackle of paper testified to that fact.

“I admire your carefulness, Your Grace,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said as they waited. “It will no doubt serve you well in the future.”

Seconds later, Ashbury put the paper into Allan’s hand. “The document is straightforward without any sly clauses. You are free to sign.”

“Thank you.” Allan leaned forward, found the table, laid the paper upon it, and as Ashbury put a pen into his hand, he also guided Allans to where he needed to sign. “Just here.”

Then the deed was done.

“I appreciate the trust you have in me, Your Grace.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon snapped. The paper and pen were snatched away, and footsteps quickly faded from the room.

Presumably Mr. Able went to file away the consent.

Allan couldn’t help the scoff that escaped him. “It is not that I trust you. However, you have provided the easier option which will save me the trouble of a prolonged and difficult courtship.”

The sound of cards being shuffled filled the air.

“I am laying out the three cards now, Your Grace.”

Ashbury laid a hand on Allan’s arm. “She did indeed do that. The three are face up. Do you want me to read them out to you?”

“If you would.” Knots of worry pulled in his belly while a bit of perspiration formed on his upper lip.

“The Queen of Diamonds, the Queen of Clubs, and the Queen of Hearts.”

Clearly, the obvious choice was hearts, but he didn’t want that. “I choose the Queen of Clubs.”

“Interesting,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Clubs denote change and creativity, loosely put.”

He cleared his throat. “What is the name of the woman it represents?” If his voice was graveled with anxiety, he couldn’t help that either.

“Her name is Annette Jennings. She is a widow and the daughter of Viscount Danvers.”

“I don’t recognize the name.”

“Well, I do.” Ashbury tapped his arm. “I vaguely remember her from when I was a rogue prowling society. She’s been recently widowed, perhaps in the past few years? And last I heard, she is frightened of her own shadow since her husband was brutally murdered. Won’t leave her parents’ house.”

“I see.” Allan frowned. What should he do?

Mrs. Dove-Lyon softly cleared her throat. “You don’t wish to wed a woman who clearly has challenges?”

“I don’t know.” But damn, he didn’t want to pay another fifty thousand pounds to choose another card.

Just when he was about to give her a dressing down, he cautioned himself.

Why not Mrs. Jennings? He was no prize being blind, and he had a host of his own challenges besides.

In many ways, this would help each of them to understand the other.

Perhaps he would be the perfect fit for her.

Eventually.

With a sigh, he nodded. “Very well. I shall wed Mrs. Jennings once I have procured a special license. However, I reserve the right to meet her first, for I don’t trust you fully.”

A delighted laugh came from Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Wonderful! I will send a missive to her mother. She and I came out together and we’re still friends today. After that meeting, I expect the wedding to go forward.”

That sent a chill down his spine. “And if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll make certain the gossips know the more shocking details of your mother’s death.”

He frowned. “She died of the same fever that took my sight.”

“Yes, but in whose bed was she found? And how?” Fabric rustled. Perhaps the woman had stood. “Those small details have managed to fade away, but I can easily bring them back.”

God, it had taken years for him to live down the humiliation of that truth when he’d been told once the fever had run its course and he’d come back to consciousness. To this day, he would swear the knowledge was what had ushered in his father’s heart attack.

“Fine. I shall keep you apprised of my plans.” He struggled to his feet while tightly gripping the head of his cane. “Come, Ashbury. I am quite finished with this call.”

“Of course.” As soon as the viscount stood, he took Allan’s arm. At the door, he whispered, “I did warn you the woman doesn’t play fair.”

“No, she doesn’t, but here we are.” He blew out a breath. “In for a penny, in for a pound as they say.”

What have I managed to plunge myself into?